


Her Healing Touch

by laveIIans



Series: A Murder of Crows [1]
Category: Dragon Age: Origins, Dragon Age: Origins - Awakening
Genre: Enemies to Friends to Lovers, Eventual Smut, F/M, Fluff and Angst, but I probably won't explore that in detail until later, but it's not for very long either don't worry, but let's face it, enemies is a bit strong, he tried to kill her so they're not exactly starting out as good friends here, it's implied she may be a dreamer, lots of feelings, there's a brief mention of her x cullen
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-11-08
Updated: 2016-11-09
Packaged: 2018-08-29 22:33:34
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 2
Words: 5,881
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8508085
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/laveIIans/pseuds/laveIIans
Summary: Asha Surana was a mage with promise, destined for great things - many saw her as likely to become First Enchanter in the future, despite her young age. But life often doesn't go quite according to plan, and when the Blight came calling, Asha became a Grey Warden. Being the youngest person in the party, she never expected any of them to take her seriously, let alone fall in love with her... [NOTE]: This work is currently on hiatus because I am busy with work and also writing another DA fic at the same time, but I have plans to update this in the future.





	1. And Thus It Begins

**Author's Note:**

> This is my first public fic (except of course for my prompt fics [here](https://archiveofourown.org/works/8476324)), so please be kind! Leave comments below so I can have feedback and know what I should work on as we go further through the story. I hope you all enjoy it! ^^

Asha sat down with her head in her hands, sighing. It was practically overwhelming, the way one thought replaced another so quickly, and she was soon swamped down with anxieties she had never known she had had as they all bubbled uncomfortably to the surface. She closed her eyes and leant back against the wall, hoping it would all be over soon if she tried to go through all her thoughts one by one and put them aside. It probably wasn't a sensible plan, but it was all she could think of.

She closed her eyes, took in a deep breath and started from the beginning. 

  
It had all started in her Harrowing, truth be told. The trial itself had felt fairly quick for her, although there was obviously no way of her knowing how much time had passed outside the Fade. She had just felt _at home_ there - it was the place she went to every night in her dreams, but it was also a place of security that she found herself approaching sometimes even when she was awake, without quite understanding why. She would sometimes be drifting off, on the verge of falling asleep but not quite while reading a book in the dormitory, and then she would find herself wandering amongst the forms of dreaming mortals, seeing what they saw, or finding spirits and talking to them. Sometimes it was confusing, especially when the Fade took her to a place she didn't quite understand, showing her visions of things where she didn't know if it had even happened or was just a figment of somebody's imagination - _literally._

That was why she had instinctively understood that the mouse she had encountered had not been a mouse. Nothing in the Fade was ever quite as it appeared to be, of course, but there was something off about him that she'd felt even before he introduced himself as "a spirit". She hadn't thought he was telling the truth about that either, but had decided to err on the side of caution by treating him politely but keeping him at arm's length so she could watch over his actions but escape if need be. 

Not that there was anywhere really to run to. Even if he hadn't wanted to possess her, if she'd taken too long in the Harrowing, Greagoir probably would have assigned a Templar to have her killed. He wouldn't have put it so poetically - he would have called it "exterminating an abomination" before she became one - and he _definitely_ wouldn't have done it himself. Greagoir regarded all the apprentices with such a disdainful hatred that she wondered if he was ever frightened of them, and he was little better with the mages who had passed their Harrowings successfully. For those in senior positions, he might give a curt nod of acknowledgement, but there was never any sign there that he saw you as a _person_ \- a living being in flesh and blood, with all the emotions that he himself carried; no, he saw only the dangers of those at risk of becoming possessed, or worse, a _maleficar_ and blood mage. _Maleficarum_ were feared by all, whether they were Templar, mage or mortal, but she felt Greagoir's prejudice, though driven by an understandable fear and desire to eradicate risk from the Ferelden Circle, was undeserved. She had known only good people there since the Templars had dragged her from the Denerim Alienage 13 years ago at the age of 5, and they had been the ones to nurture her as she grew up and came into the fullest extent of her powers. 

She had heard the whispers, of course - there was little privacy for a mage in the Circle, as there was always a Templar watching over you somewhere, even if they weren't immediately visible; as a result, the apprentices did not generally hold secrets from each other, and even ugly rumours were easy to come across. They had wondered if she was a dreamer, because she had been the youngest mage in decades to have been taken to the Circle - most of the apprentices had first manifested their abilities around the age of 7 and were taken shortly afterwards, so she was at least 2 years younger than her peers. Greagoir had taken a special dislike to her because he feared she posed a greater risk to those around her than anyone else.

"If the girl is to be given a Harrowing, we must have it done as quickly as possible," he had said angrily. Not to her - she had heard him shouting to Irving in a corridor and decided to keep her distance, not knowing what his reaction would be if he'd seen her. "She will probably become possessed otherwise. All the enchanters say that she masters the spells they teach quicker than anybody else, that she practises them for longer and that when she talks about the Fade, her memories are far more vivid than anyone else. I think she even manages to enter while awake. Do you understand the _risk_ she possesses? We should not allow her to remain an apprentice for much longer - either give her a Harrowing or exterminate her. This is what I suggest for the safety of the Circle." 

_Exterminate her._ Those were the words he'd used. It made it sound as if he was talking about ridding the world of a horrific creature, not a frightened young elf girl who simply wanted to be accepted. It was bad enough that her peers treated her with caution, most likely because of the rumours themselves, but to be spoken of so coldly by a man who barely knew her and always glared at her when he came across her left an icy feeling in the pit of her stomach. She had known nothing but hostility from him since the first days of training when it had been clear she was a much stronger mage than her peers, even all those years ago. Sometimes she even wondered if he was right - maybe Thedas would be safer without her. It certainly wouldn't cause much controversy if an elf was to be killed; there wouldn't even be that many people who would miss her amongst the Circle, let alone Ferelden. 

Irving sighed. The man sounded more serious than she'd ever known him to be. He was normally a jovial, caring person, the sort of man that reminded her of the elves in her alienage who had all loved her, regardless of blood, because they had all been very closely knit together. Everyone had cared for each other, young and old, and nobody had ever gone a day without hearing a kind word or seeing a smile of genuine love from somebody. The elves all had to care for each other because few else would. It was something she had realised in the Circle as she grew older and saw more stares at her ears, and she wondered what it would have been like if she hadn't been born a mage. She wouldn't have been torn away from her family in the middle of the night, crying and afraid, not knowing what would happen next or if she would ever see them again. 

None of the other elves had dared say a word, probably fearing they would be struck down by the band of Templars sent to claim her. A crowd of them had gathered, hearing her screams and the tears of her mother as she sobbed in her father's arms. The whole situation was _wrong,_ so wrong that it hurt her even now to think about it. She had never done anything bad, she remembered shouting to the Templars who took her away with blank faces and no sympathy, driven hard and cold as ice from years of training. She'd only ever used her magic by accident; she hadn't even known she was a mage until a month ago; she'd never hurt anybody. 

Still, none of the Templars said a word, and none of the elves protested her innocence. She understood now - had they said anything, they would have been slain there and then, and the trauma of it would have most likely rendered her insane. They were just as afraid as she was, and none of them wanted to die. Still, she couldn't help feeling a little bitter about it, even though she still understood the reasons for their silence and even sympathised. She had always been a happy child, quick to giggle, causing mischief but no real trouble and 'a jewel in the alienage', according to her father. If everyone had loved her so much, why had they said nothing? Why had her mother stood there crying but not said a word? Why had her father stood there, pain written on his face as clear as a scar as he was seconds away from collapsing like his wife, but remained silent? 

She understood. Maker's breath, she _understood._ But she didn't want to; had _never_ wanted to. Some days she felt like she was still a 5 year old again, begging for answers she already knew to questions she would never be able to ask. 

Irving embodied the kind of kindness that reminded her of her alienage days; the strong community spirit fostered amongst them from lack of a community anywhere else; the genuine kindness without asking, the crinkle in an eye from a smile that came as naturally as breathing, the feeling of love and _being loved_ that pervaded the alienage just as strongly as the despair did under the surface. He had comforted her when she arrived, crying and confused, not understanding where she was or why she was there. He had done the same for all the new apprentices who arrived, despite the fact that it wasn't really part of his job. She had loved him for that - all the nice little things that he had done for everyone without being asked, _precisely_ because it was not asked of him. He had just felt it was something he had to do as a person, and he was one of the few people in the Circle, Templar or mage, who actually seemed to care about her as a person and all the messy emotions that came along with Circle life. The Templars couldn't because it had been drilled out of them; the mages couldn't - or _wouldn't_ \- because feelings brought danger, a danger that reminded you that a single misstep could result in death, and that was a price that nobody was willing to pay, even for a crumb of humanity in a place filled with despair. 

That was why it was a surprise - and not a pleasant one - to hear the man being taken out of his comfort zone. He didn't sound like a happy, grandfatherly figure with a twinkle in his eye; he just sounded _old_ and _tired,_ as if he carried the weight of the world on his shoulders. She realised with a jolt just how much responsibility the position of First Enchanter gave him, and did not envy him. 

"She does not pose a risk to anyone here," Irving said slowly without any trace of emotion, a complete opposite to Greagoir's zealous fury that burned like a brand. "In all my years of experience, I have seen very few who have come close to wielding the power she does, and certainly fewer who have done it seemingly with any degree of ease. It is true that, perhaps, there is reason to exercise caution around her. Yet I genuinely feel from observing her that she is just another mage like the rest of us - she simply wants to obey the rules of the Circle and go through her life without bringing the ire of the Templars down on her. Templars much like yourself who would wish to see her killed purely because she shows promise." She could practically _hear_ his eyebrow raising disdainfully as he carried on in a much more bitter, withering tone. "The job of the Templars is to _protect_ the mages from harm, and I certainly do not count it as _protection_ that you should threaten her life when she has given no grounds for suspicion. She is no _maleficar,_ no apostate. She is no blood mage. We will give her her Harrowing at the appropriate time, such as we do for all other mages, and that is my final opinion on the matter." 

Greagoir sounded apoplectic. She didn't envy Irving for having to stand next to him and endure a conversation with him, if it could even be called one; Greagoir was reducing it to a display of a one-man verbal battering ram of sheer rage itself, and Irving's calm and measured responses did nothing to soothe him. If anything, it only seemed to further aggravate the man, and she winced as he continued his tirade against her. 

"But what about the _risk_ she poses, Irving? I will _not_ be held responsible if she becomes an abomination and slaughters _my_ men, or even your _mages_ if it comes to that." His voice was a sneering drawl. "Would you really stand here so _sanctimoniously_ with the blood of innocents on your hands? Would you stand here so _calmly_ and go about your life as usual when the worst happens, knowing that you could have easily prevented it by removing her?" 

" _Enough!_ " Irving's voice sounded genuinely angry for the first time since she'd heard the conversation begin, and she heard a quiet but ominous crackle of lightning at his fingertips. "I will not stand here idly while you deign to provoke me, Greagoir. I am doing my job in ensuring the safety of my charges, and I do not deem her a risk to anybody present in the Circle. You will watch over your Templars, and I will watch over my mages, and we will speak no more of this. I have nothing further to discuss on the matter, and I think it is high time that _you_ return to your duties. Is that _clear_ , Commander?" 

"Yes, First Enchanter," Greagoir said, practically forcing the words out as if they left a foul taste in his mouth. She heard him start walking closer to where she hid, muttering a string of obscenities directed both to her and Irving under his breath, and began to move out of her hiding place behind a statue of armour. She was not able to disappear entirely - they had been too close for that - but she made it appear as if she had just started walking down the corridor when she came across him, trying to make herself appear as natural as possible and hid her trembling hands as she gave him a fearful bw. 

"Greetings, Commander," she squeaked, wincing at how afraid she sounded. He gave her a curt nod and glowered at her. His eyes blazed in her general direction, and if he had been a mage, she was certain he would have incinerated her there and then. 

"Your Harrowing will be in a few years to come, apprentice," he spat at her, "but do not become complacent in the Circle. One act against the rules and I will have you made Tranquil. Is that clear?" 

".... _Yes._ " He walked away, leaving her standing still in shock. _Tranquility_? She would rather die a thousand deaths twice over than be rid of her powers, her dreams, her memories; all the things that made her a _person_ would be gone in mere seconds, and she would be reduced to a branded husk, walking and talking as lifelessly as those like Owain did. The thought made her sick to her core, and she vowed she would never, _ever_ do anything to risk Tranquility for the rest of her life. She would follow all the rules; she would be meek and obedient to all the Templars; she would be the perfect, ideal mage and stay in the shadows, sacrificing her potential to avoid Greagoir's ire. 

That was why when Jowan had made his request after she had recovered from her successful Harrowing (that, notably, went without being congratulated by Greagoir) she had agreed, but went to Irving straight away and revealed the plot. _No risks._ Acting on his blessing, she had followed through with Jowan's plans, all the while feeling a tinge of regret that she had never been able to have such a strong connection at the Circle herself. She'd wanted to, but love brought risks like any emotion, and in the fraught, static environment of the Circle where everything was laid bare in the open, she hadn't wanted to leave herself so exposed to the others' judgement. Enough was heaped on her as it was; she didn't want to add yet more fodder to the pile and give them further ammunition as they looked askance at her and whispered. It nearly drove her mad, but what was she to do? She couldn't, and _wouldn't_ , risk Tranquility; not for anybody. 

Not even Cullen, the Templar closest to her in age, who blushed when she looked at him. She had felt him in the Fade, but she had never entered his dreams. There was little enough space for privacy in the Circle, and she would not invade his, even though it was his job to invade hers. She had grown fond of him; perhaps a little too fond, if she was to admit it, because lately as of not her dreams had been full of him. A happy series of "what if?" moments, where they were not divided by being a mage or Templar; they would marry, she would bear him children, perhaps a boy and a girl, maybe even more if the Maker blessed them enough; a baby suckling at her breast with his bright blue eyes, a daughter with his wheat-blonde curls skipping around happily with a necklace he had made for her clumsily out of colourful ribbons knotted together to form a rainbow. It wouldn't have mattered - the girl would have been delighted from her father's affection. _None of them would bear the taint of magic._

No. That was a step too far. Magic was not a taint, a curse; it was nothing to be held with regret, like a few mages felt as they grew older and realised they were trapped in the Circle for the rest of their lives. She _loved_ her magic, even if it got her more hostility than praise as she showed her outstanding gifts. That was what it _was_ , in her mind - a _gift_ bestowed on them with love by the Maker Himself. If He had decided to grant mortals this gift, why should she spurn it with guilt and regret? No; she would nurture it as best she could through training from instructors and the magical library at the Circle, Chantry be damned, and she would be _proud_ of who she was. If there was one thing that her alienage upbringing had taught her, other than the strength in love, it was that she should never regret her existence as an elf, no matter how the shems looked down on her, because she had an elvhen history spanning millennia to take pride in, and the only feat a shem could be proud of was that they had eventually beaten the elves into submission. "Not until centuries had passed, though," the _hahren_ , Valendrian, had said, smiling. "We were the jewel in all of Thedas, and we will not let our hearts be clapped in chains even if that glory is no more. We have a history, and a heart. Take pride in who you are, children, and let it shield you; for though our tree, the _vhenadahl_ in us all, may be moved from place to place, nobody, not even the shems, can deny us our roots." 

It was her pride in who and _what_ she was that had eventually forced her hand. Irving's words had taken root in her, and she would naturally obey them, but it was the wise and kind _hahren_ who she listened to that day. When they had emerged from the phylactery chamber, leaving an array of chaos behind them, it had been Valendrian's spirit that had coursed through her as she admitted that she had acted under Irving's orders. The mage had nodded with pride as she spoke, and she felt as if her heart could burst. Despite Greagoir's anger, she was _safe_ \- she had proven her loyalty to the Circle, and none would ever be able to doubt her worth as a proven mage ever again. 

  


It was the look on Jowan's face that killed her. He was angry, just as angry as Greagoir had been not many years earlier, but this wasn't a Templar's anger, driven by fear of the unknown and uncertainty as to the _rightness_ of magic; this was the focused fury of a _mage_ ; a mage betrayed by his own kind, no less; a mage who had suffered under the Circle's suffocation, who had faced the same suspicions as her, if not worse - for they had been on the verge of _actually_ branding him Tranquil, whereas for her it had just been an idle threat - and found solace in a mage like himself, a _friend,_ only to be let down for the last time. They _were_ friends; she had cared for him deeply, stronger even than her developing crush for Cullen, because they were both mages living with the plight and reward of simply being themselves, and a mage would _never_ betray another mage. It was _unthinkable_. 

But that was exactly what she had done, without hesitation, because her loyalty for the Circle (and fear of becoming like him) had overriden her loyalty for a friend. She was wracked by guilt as soon as his eyes met hers, but she would not take back what she had done. _No risks._

As it was, Jowan had turned out to be a blood mage all along - their suspicions of him being a dangerous _maleficar_ were sound, and it became obvious Greagoir's suspicions for herself were unfounded. Grudgingly, he even offered her his _thanks_ for her loyalty to the Circle, while Jowan's lover Lily stood there in shock at the realisation and wept. 

Their acceptance of her didn't make it any easier for her to accept _herself_ , though. 

Duncan, the visiting Grey Warden, clearly saw her promise and offered for her to join him as a recruit. Irving and Greagoir offered little objection, with the latter remarking on the relief it would be to "have her out of his hair" for once, despite the fact she had not once given him any trouble. Asha saw a chance to escape the mess she had caused, knowing she could never look her fellow mages in the eye again, and took it. Duncan shook her hand and let her out of the Tower, her first time seeing the outside world in 13 years, and she fought the urge to break down and cry. 

She would not show them weakness. She would not let them know that they had won, that they had beaten her the way they beat all the other mages eventually, despite the years she had fought them mentally as they threw obstacle after obstacle in her way; the whispers, the isolation, the self-doubt they had poisoned her with for too long that she had quashed and now rose up, rearing its head like an angry beast, spitting venom from its jaws and raw _fear_ dripping from sharp claws and fangs. The way they had made her regret her existence, firstly as a mage and then as an elf; a deadly and undesirable combination that had seen ugly results in the way her fellow apprentices had called her "knife-ear" instead of her name and the shem boys had ogled her, saying that because she was an elf it was okay and nobody would care. She had always stopped them with her magic, overpowering them all as easily as drawing breath, but as she grew older and more attractive to them she began to wonder if they were actually telling the truth. Maybe the world really _wouldn't_ have cared. Certainly nobody had sympathy for the plight of a young elf girl, and least of all one who was hated both for her breath-taking appearance and talents combined. 

  


On the journey to Ostagar, she did not cry once, and she bit her lip so strongly it often bled in order to suppress the tears as they began to form. She offered no stories about life in the Circle to Duncan, and he offered little about himself in return, favouring the pragmatism of moving quickly without the need for much conversation. She was fine with that, too; he was a shem and a stranger, and she had few reasons to trust him beyond the fact that he had essentially saved her from life trapped in the Tower. He might even have shared the Templars' views of mages; she had no idea where his sympathies would lie and what his views on magic were, and she was too afraid to open up to him. She could have talked about her Maker-damned _loneliness_ throughout her whole life, and the way she sometimes regretted being born a mage, or even born at all; she could have told him about how she was scared of what the future would bring, and whether she could ever learn to forgive herself; she could even have tried kissing him, just to see what it would feel like to be wanted, and whether he desired her as much as the shem boys in the Circle did. 

None of those things happened. The silence continued all the way there, broken only by brief remarks driven through necessity. Asha felt she would die under the weight of it all, and had nearly given up hope entirely when Ostagar began to loom ahead, and soon they were there. 

After her introduction to King Cailan - Asha had quickly introduced herself as respectfully as possible, not knowing the protocols of addressing a member of the royal family but desperate to not let Duncan discuss what had happened at the Circle - she was essentially allowed free reign. She was told to find Alistair, the Grey Warden closest in age to her, in order to be given her tasks to prepare for the Joining. Whatever the Joining actually _was,_ she would not allow herself to guess. There were too many demons inside her without adding to them. 

Instead, she found a quiet place away from prying eyes. She put up a ward around herself, shielding her body from glances and making sure nobody could hear her. Asha gave one last look around to make absolutely sure she was completely concealed. 

Then she broke down entirely.


	2. The Lamb

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ahh yes, Wynne appears and gives our young heroine some much needed words to bolster her courage. Fast grandma to the rescue.
> 
> Hope you're still enjoying reading this! ♡ 

The air felt strange against her face. After being cooped up in the Tower for so long, she had all but forgotten what it felt like to be outside. The breeze tickled her face, light as a feather, and it was something nobody else seemed to really notice. Then again, nobody else here had been locked away for 13 years.

Well.... not quite, anyway. She was relieved to see there were other mages present, even if they had been almost banished to a separate area that seemed closely guarded. She could _feel_ the magic resonating from them as they chanted protective spells and formed wards, and she was struck by the beauty of their intricate movements. It made her feel slightly awkward when she compared her own work to theirs; they had to have a strong, channelled focus, whereas for her, using magic was as intuitive and natural as breathing. Something she paid little attention to simply because it was _there_ and always had been, like her hands or her eyes. None of the other mages in the Tower had had her level of calm, unthinking ease as she worked, and they had hated her for it. 

She wished they hadn't been so resentful; she had _tried_ once to show them how simple it was to create something out of nothing; to light a spark, say, or create a chain of lightning, make a glowing wisp, or do this or that, if they'd only just _look_ \- and they had. They'd said she was showing off, when all she was trying to do was help them. _Stuck up,_ they called her. _Arrogant knife-eared bitch._ That was a frequent one, too. She'd only wanted to show them how it was for her in the hopes that maybe her technique would help them, only it didn't. She couldn't understand why it wasn't as natural to them as it was for her, and they couldn't understand why she was just so insufferably _perfect_ at everything. Neither could understand the other precisely because they never would - they would never feel magic in the same way as each other, and neither could understand why they were so different. She loved her magic, but sometimes, in moments when she was all alone, she almost hated it. It truly did cause almost as many problems as it did alleviate them. 

  


  


Caught in her musings, she almost walked straight into a tree and was only stopped by a sudden-cast fist made of stone that knocked her backwards, almost sending her to the ground. Steadying herself, she looked around in alarm and saw an older woman looking at her, lowering her hand. She was relieved to see the woman was clearly not hostile, only concerned. 

"You're a mage," Asha breathed slowly, rubbing her stomach where the spell had hit her. "Why aren't you standing over there with all the others?" The woman chuckled. 

"Well, aren't _you_ a mage, too?" She seemed amused. "I saw you were about to walk headfirst into a tree and.... well, stopped it from happening. You looked very much wrapped up in your own thoughts. Is everything alright?" The woman's face took on a look of kindly concern. Asha felt herself trusting her instinctively. 

"I had my Harrowing very recently, and I'm still trying to process that," she admitted. The woman gave her a smile, so she continued. "Before I left the Circle, I.... a friend of mine wanted my help in something the Circle wouldn't have agreed with. His name was Jowan." 

"Ah, I see." The older mage nodded. "A name that sounds slightly familiar, if not for very good reasons. Carry on though, dear." 

"He wanted to get his phylactery so he could escape the Tower because he fell in love with Lily, one of the initiates. They wanted to have a life together somewhere... where magic wouldn't be a part of their lives anymore." The woman nodded, gesturing for her to continue. "I didn't want to betray the Circle, so I told Irving the whole plot. He told me to follow through with it." It was a relief to speak about it to somebody; she found a weight gradually lifting off her chest the more she opened up about it. "We broke out of the phylactery chamber -" the other mage barely suppressed a wince "- and Greagoir and Irving were waiting for us. Jowan found out I'd betrayed him and.... he was a _blood mage._ " The woman hitched in her breath. "All those years, 13 years, we _grew up together_ and he _never_ told me he was a blood mage." She took in a deep breath, steadying herself, and continued. "He knocked us all out and escaped. By the time we came to, he was long gone. Greagoir was furious, nearly wanted me made Tranquil, but Irving explained I was following his orders. Lily was sentenced to Aeonar." She suppressed the urge to cry. It was even harder than she'd thought it would be to actually discuss it with someone, let alone a fellow _mage_ , but it was strangely relieving, too. "I didn't want the others casting judgement on me for betraying Jowan, so I came here. Duncan visited the Tower looking for more recruits, and it just seemed like an opportune moment to leave before anyone found out." She sighed. 

"It seems like you've had quite a rough time recently, child," the woman said sadly. "If it makes you feel any better, I, too, have had times with the Circle that I regret." She didn't elaborate, and Asha didn't pry. Her eyes took on a faraway look for a moment, clearly reminiscing about something. After a brief pause, she continued. "Still, you've managed to come through your Harrowing, and that deserves congratulations." She smiled, then laughed suddenly. "Ah, here I am, talking the Maker's ears off and I haven't even given you my name." Her eyes twinkled and Asha found herself liking the older woman even more. She gave off the air of a kindly grandmother with a slightly wicked tongue hidden under all the smiles, and a steely backbone. "You may call me Wynne." 

"I'm Asha. Asha Surana." The two women exchanged genuine smiles to each other, and Asha began to genuinely relax. Maybe Ostagar wasn't so bad after all, even if it _was_ full of shems. _They were everywhere these days_ , she thought wryly and stopped a smirk from forming. "I came from the Denerim Alienage originally, but I haven't seen it since I was 5 years old." 

"5 years old?" Wynne raised an eyebrow, clearly shocked. "I haven't heard of such a thing since... well, most mages don't generally display magical ability until the age of 7. I wonder why you began so early?" She continued more softly, as if to take the sting out of the words. "You've clearly got promise in you, Asha." She smiled. "It is a very rare thing to find a mage who can cast spells so early in life, but that only adds to your strength as a mage developing at the threshold of your powers. Do not let them judge you for it, child - it is a thing to be proud of." 

"... Thank you." Asha felt 10 times smaller, and equally grateful. Here was a mage - an experienced one, no less! - who had known about her powers and not judged her. Wynne didn't seem bothered by the fact Asha had started using magic so early; in fact, she seemed almost proud.

"Now, I'm sure you have somewhere to be right now, don't you? Duncan probably has better uses for you than wasting your time on an old woman like me." 

"It wasn't a waste," Asha said quickly, then flushed. Wynne chuckled at her. 

"That's very touching of you to say, Asha. You've clearly got better manners than most young mages your age. Certainly better than mine were at that time." She laughed again, caught in a memory years ago. "Ah, but it's true. You have things to do, and I have a group of young, hot-blooded mages to supervise who think they can protect Ostagar just by waving their arms around. Best we part ways now and talk some other time." She smiled a warm smile at her. "Still, it was nice talking to you." 

"And you, Wynne." The woman nodded as Asha walked away, head full of genuine warmth and happiness for the first time in years.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> That was a slightly shorter chapter than the previous one because I don't want every part to read like a _War and Peace_ excerpt haha. The next one will be with meeting Alistair (don't swoon, he's not the LI here) and doing a lot more wandering around before we get to the Tower of Ishal..... gdi Loghain

**Author's Note:**

> Ahh I hope that wasn't too long! Also that it was enjoyable haha. I guess I must have gone straight for all the heavy feels right in the first chapter - I didn't really plan it that way, but at least you all know what to expect now lmao. I promise it gets lighter afterwards, honestly!!  
> Please leave me some feedback though (but be nice)! I'd really appreciate it!  
>  _Ma serannas._


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